


The Hydras of the world

by julad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julad/pseuds/julad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment between Bucky and Steve, set about two years after CA:TWS.</p><p>
  <i>Besides, orders were orders, whether you didn't like going in or you didn't like sitting out. Problem was, Steve still had a hard time following orders he didn't like.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hydras of the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dsudis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



> Think of this as an mprov/flashfic type story - it was written in a couple of hours as a bribe to help Dira write her word count for the day. Thank you to Dira, Astolat and Ces for the quick beta.

Steve was brooding on the roof again. Bucky didn't need to ask why this time. They'd just come home from a mission debrief, and it had ended with yet another argument about Boko Haram and Islamic State, dual monsters that seemed to be always finding new depths of horror, even when you thought it couldn't get worse. 

Tony wanted to smash them, of course - "I've got dinner with Pepper in London tonight, I'll do it on the way back," he insisted, mouth full of fries. (Mission debriefs always happened over food of Tony's choosing. He picked good food, and usually paid for it, so Bucky thought it was a good system.) 

Steve, on this particular topic, agreed with Tony. The older and more worldly Steve got, the more his dislike of bullies grew into a raging contempt, and the more willing he was to fly in, Tony-style, make a theatrically vicious point and fly out again. "It's the only kind of message they'll understand," he said, arms folded and jaw set.

Coulson was trying out a new philosophy he called "Not Interfering Where We're Not Wanted", and also, "Not Messing With Things We Don't Understand" and additionally, "Not Going In When We Don't Really Know What Outcomes We're Trying To Accomplish" -- " _Killing them?_ " Tony had suggested sweetly, and Steve nodded grimly -- and finally, "I have _people_ in there, Stark, so for the hundredth time I am not telling you what targets to hit and I am ordering you to stay out of it for your own good and everybody else's."

Bucky agreed with Coulson. In his 18 months in this century, and with thanks to the History Channel and Kindle books and the internet, Bucky had figured out that there had always been Nazis in the world and there would always be Nazis in the world. And among the Nazis of the world, there would always be Hydras -- the worst of the worst, the people so vile that, until you came face to face with them (or body to chair with them, even), it was hard to believe they could even exist. These days, though, you could just watch YouTube or follow the news to know they existed. They _wanted_ you to know about them. They wanted you to _join in_. 

So yeah, Bucky hated those guys. (They captured people. They made them do things. He hated those guys in a way that Steve and Tony couldn't even _comprehend_.) But he remembered the USSR; he knew better than anybody that good guys and bad guys could be hard to tell apart when there was a Hydra running the show. So he agreed with Coulson - this wasn't something that they could just go in and smash. But he also believed that the people being oppressed by the Hydras of the world should get to be the ones to destroy them. It had made him feel a lot better, that's for sure. 

Besides, orders were orders, whether you didn't like going in or you didn't like sitting out. Problem was, Steve still had a hard time following orders he didn't like. And by "following orders", Bucky thought wryly, he meant Steve was going to brood long and hard and then do whatever his conscience dictated, orders or no.

Steve was leaning on the brick edge of their building roof, staring out over the other rooftops and fire escapes and satellite dishes, but he turned his head to look at Bucky. Bucky waited, hand on the door to the stairwell, to see if he was wanted. Steve inclined his head so Bucky went to him, leaning against Steve's back, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist, putting his cheek on Steve's shoulder. The sun was setting on smog, birds were wheeling over the next block, and the sounds of traffic filtered up from the streets around them. 

"You reek," Bucky told him, because he did -- an acrid, sulfury, smoke smell and BO from four days in the same suit. 

"You smell nice," Steve mumbled, because Bucky was a sane person who had a shower and washed his hair after long, crappy missions and arguments about the next one. 

Steve turned around and ran his hands lightly over Bucky's t-shirt, his chest, his arms; gently tugged on his damp ponytail. He wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck and rested his forehead against Bucky's and sighed.

"You don't want me to go in there," Steve said. 

"Nope," Bucky said. Steve knew all of his reasons.

"What do you want me to do instead?" Steve asked. _Give me a way to do what you want instead of what my conscience tells me, because I don't want us to fight_ , he meant. They hadn't really had a fight yet this century. They were going to eventually, and it was going to upset the hell out of both of them when it did, but they kept avoiding it for as long as they could. 

These days, Bucky liked fixing things - weeding community gardens, cleaning up neglected parks, pulling trash out of rivers. It helped him feel better about things. When he had nothing else to do, he wandered around the city, talking to people, looking for things to fix. 

"There's an apartment block in Bed-Stuy that hasn't had hot water for a week," Bucky suggested. "You could discuss it with the landlord" -- Steve was in the mood to _discuss_ something, and discuss it hard -- "while I look at the boiler." Bucky sometimes hated the landlords of the world more than he hated the Hydras of the world. The landlords had a fucking _choice_ , they lived in a god damn _paradise_ of options and opportunity, and they still chose to make other people's lives miserable. 

Steve nodded, but didn't move, just closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

"We'll talk to Natasha about the other stuff," Bucky said, relenting a bit. "If she runs it, I'll help with it. I don't think she's going to have better options than Coulson right now, but we can ask."

Steve nodded again, and pulled him into a long hug. 

"You _really_ smell," Bucky told him after a while, because he was tired and freshly showered and would like to enjoy some lazy rolling around on clean sheets with Steve, but Steve smelled like rushed, stressed out trench fucking. 

That finally got half a smile out of Steve. "Okay," he said, voice a bit rough, eyes finally going sleepy. Bucky poked his waist until Steve straightened up and started moving towards the stairwell with him. 

"Shower now," he told Steve, pushing him along gently. "Sleep soon. Landlord in the morning, Natasha later." 

Steve was settled now. Bucky leaned in the bathroom doorway and waited while Steve washed himself down, systematically, like a soldier. He rested his head on the jamb, let his eyes fall closed and let the static in his mind take over for a moment. It helped him feel better, having something he could fix. Even if he couldn't fix everything.


End file.
